The Little Details
by Lightno
Summary: Holmes is upset about something, and Watson trys to find out what it is H/W
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone

This is my first try at writing fanfiction, I hope you like it

John Watson smiles, letting the warm sunshine blanket him, contrasting the light breeze that makes the trees that line the field whisper.

Opening his eyes and glancing to the left, he can see the frowning face of Holmes, whose sleepy brown eyes only add to his already frowning face. Sighing, he grabs the wrist of Holmes coat and pulls him across the field, hoping that a walk will somehow lighten Sherlock's mood.

"Lighten up old boy" Watson says "A little fresh air won't harm you, and even you, one of Londons finest detectives needs a break once in a while'.

'I am not -one- of Londons finest, I -am- Londons finest.' Holmes cuts in, tromping alongside Watson "And I was in the middle of a case old boy, you chose the worst time to drag me here".

John only rolls his eyes, staring up into the great expanse of the sky. He had brought Holmes to his brothers' estate to relax, get away from his cases and boxing matches. And Sherlock damned well needed a break! He'd seen him become increasingly bored, and even more so increasingly agitated, sulking around the house muttering to himself and taking to insulting Lestrade more often then usual – something of which Watson himself had thought to be impossible.

"Come on" John starts, turning to face Holmes and stepping close to him. He lets go of Holmes's coat and moves his hand to the mans chin, pulling it up to face him.

"Cheer up, for me?" But Holmes only turns away, choosing to glare at the trees.

Defeated, Watson drops his hand and continues walking in the direction he was originally headed to, before hearing the detective slump to the ground cross legged, folding his arms across his chest in displeasure of his situation.

Curse him, Watson thought! Could he not at least try to be happy? He'd tried all he could to find out what had been bothering the detective, but he'd only been brushed off multiple times, until John had simply given up and dropped the matter entirely.

Sherlock watched as John tromped off into the distance, watching as his feet disturbed the small daisies that danced and sprang about as they were trodden on. He didn't like to see John angry at him like this, but even so, being disturbed during the middle of a case annoyed him to no end. But it wasn't only the unfinished case that was bothering him…

Glancing up, Sherlock was surprised to find John was nowhere in sight. Jumping up, he stared down the field to where the man had been walking not a minute ago. Heart racing, he began to bolt along the path of broken daisies that John had unintentionally carved in the field, wishing he hadn't stopped to sulk when John had walked off.

Tripping, Sherlock began to roll down the field, only stopping when he felt himself restrained by strong arms.

Lying on his back, it was now obvious to Holmes what had caused him to fall in the first place. The field at first appeared to be completely flat, but on closer inspection sloped towards to end of it, only slightly but enough to make one lose their footing if it was unknown to be in existence.

Which Sherlock had certainly done.

Rolling over onto his stomach Holmes faces John, who lies to his left, head first down the slope on his back, with one hand lazily draped across his eyes in an attempt to block out the now blinding sun.

"I must say Sherlock, if we'd been in London I would think you were chasing a criminal, at the pace you were going!" John grinned at Sherlock, who was blushing slightly at the ungraceful way in which he had fallen.

Raising his hand to Sherlocks cheek, John rested the back of his hand against his skin, feeling the way it burnt where the detective was blushing from his stumble.

"Hmm, curious" he responded, before shuffling over to rest atop Watson, his chin on Watson chest, which rose and fell with each gentle breath the man took.

They lay there and let the sun bath them with warmth, whilst a few small birds chatted away quietly in summer sky.

"I thought you'd fallen" Sherlock stated, breaking the near silence

"I thought my company wasn't enjoyable" John responded, the lightest hint of annoyance hidden in the words.

Sighing, Sherlock moved his hand to gently stroke Watsons hair with his fingers, the strands soft in his fingers.

"You know" John began, biting his tongue as he pieced his words together "It would make me joyful to no end if you would explain what's wrong. I mean, if it's something I've done I-"

"No!" Sherlock barked, surprising both himself and Watson from the sudden, louder-than-planned cry. "It's not, it's not you, it's…."

Silence sat between the two, John sighing as Sherlock only stared at him with pleading eyes. Then, Sherlock leaned to his side, rummaging through his coat pockets for an item, which when pulled from the depths of Holmes's clothing was revealed to be a letter, creased slightly from being in Holmes possession, and the way the folds were sharp and flat showed signs of having been opened and read many times over.

"It though you-"Sherlock broke off, his eyes glassing over in a way which made Johns heart ache at the sight. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sherlock handed him the letter.

Unfolding the letter, John glanced down the paper, easily recognizing his own neat handwriting that filled the page, eyes widening as he remembered the words that were written on the page.

"Sherlock, where did you get this?" John asked, his voice faltering as he felt Sherlock begin to tremble.

"It was in your bedroom - I was only looking for a bandage – and it was in your handwriting. I was just wondering who you were writing to" Sherlock stated sadly to John.

"Sherlock I didn't-" John began, regretting having kept the unsent letter.

"You wrote that you love her! I though you didn't love her anymore" Sherlock yelped, the tears in his eyes threatening to escape "I thought you loved me now" he whimpered, burying his face in Watsons coat.

"Sherlock" John said gently, raising Sherlocks chin to face him as he propped himself up on one elbow "Did you bother to check the date I wrote this?"

Sherlocks eyes widened as he realises his little, crucial mistake, and John chuckles as the detective begins to blush again.

"This" John says, tapping Sherlock on the nose lightly with the now folded letter "Was written when I first began dating her. I promise – I assure you with all my heart – I don't love her anymore Holmes. I love you"

Sherlock leaned forward, closing his eyes as his lips meet Johns. The breeze picks up again, licking the letter from Johns hand

Neither noticed it slip away

"Holmes, I simply cannot find this knife that Miss Clara was supposedly killed with" Lestrade sighed, tired from the long chase it was taking to get to the killer of the most recent murder case.

John watched, smiling as Sherlock danced around the room finding the seemingly invisible clues that seemed to be made for Sherlocks eyes only. But none of that mattered anyway, not now that Sherlocks black cloud of a mood had passed and he was back to his own version of 'normality'. He'd had stopped sulking around the house and complaining, and was back to experimenting on their dog and setting fire their rooms with various substances. Even the wave of harsh comments to Lestrade had ceased completely.

"Lestrade" Holmes declared "If you are to somehow keep your position in the Yard, I suggest getting glasses. It might help you to be useful sometimes"

Well, almost completely.

Hope you like it

Reviews are love


	2. New Dog, New Tricks

**Disclaimer (because I forgot it last time): Yeah, I don't own Sherlock Holmes, dammit. Wish I did though **

**A/N: Hullo again! Hugs to everyone who reviewed my last chapter, it's nice to know people are reading my fic. :) You'll probably be glad to know that I now have a beta-er to pick up on my stupid mistakes now (Thanks C.J, you're awesome) **

**Also, I still can't figure how to put lines between breaks in the story -.- **

**Anyways, onwards**

Sherlock let out a sigh, pulling the thick blanket closer. In his arms, he felt Watson shift around him, sitting his chin on Sherlock head.

"Morning, Holmes" Watson grumbled, keeping his eyes closed against the morning sunlight, which filtered through the open window.

He received a grumbled from Sherlock in response, more out of tiredness than laziness.

Wriggling out of Sherlocks hold, John swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, only to find himself pulled backwards, landing sideways over Sherlocks stomach, who had a grin splashed over his sleeping face.

"Mmm, no," He grumbled "Stay" Opening both eyes slightly.

"Sherlock, we must get up" John urged, getting up from the bed again, moving to his suitcase at the right of the room.

Rolling over, Sherlock frowned as John moved away. Must get up? Why must, he pondered. Wiggins had arrived early yesterday morning with a telegram seeking their assistance in a town not far from Mycrofts country estate. Even though both men had set off as soon as they could, they hadn't arrived at Mycrofts estate until well after the sun had set, and it was needless to say both were thoroughly exhausted. Why Watson thought they should lose further sleep puzzled the detective as he watched John finish getting dressed, his braces snapping shut with a click.

"Come on old dog, it's not like you to want to sleep. Not sick are you?" John said lightly, ruffling Sherlocks hair, before stepping out the door.

"No" He responds as he rolls off the bed

(Break)

"No offence Holmes, but your brother really is a little suffocating at times"

Nodding in response, Sherlock continues along the side of the road. Alongside him, Johns cane moves parallel to his bad leg.

"But we can be thankful to him for putting us up at such short notice, though I suspect he's just happy to see you, you don't visit enough" John continued, rambling along as he had been for the most of their walk.

"True, but as it was Mycroft who recommended us to our client, it is not too unexpected." Sherlock responded "And I visit. It was not less than four months ago that I visited, due to someone" he said, jabbing a finger at Watson "Pulling me out here."

Laughing, Watson only grinned in response, before checking the slip of paper with the address of their client's house that Mycroft had handed to him as they were leaving.

"It appears we have arrived" He stated, stopping at the gate to a small cottage, which sat underneath a large tree with thick branches splayed out above the roof, shading the house.

"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Oh, and Mr. Watson too!" Called a frantic maid as they stepped through the gate, latching it shut. The hurried woman rushed them inside, her red hair bobbing around as she took their coats "Come inside, quickly. Everyone's here"

'Everyone' turned out to be a group of 5 people. Stepping into the room, a tall male nodded at their presence.

"Morning Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, I'm Inspector Berkley. I'm sure you're aware why you were asked to help shed light on this case" He said grimly. Watson tipped his hat, shaking the inspectors hand.

"Actually, we know nothing of the case, only that it was a suspicious murder" Holmes said, as the older of the two women in the room began to weep. The other girl, the elder woman's daughter, judging from her looks, began to comfort her, the crying eventually dropping to quiet sobs.

"Our son, Timothy Barkers" began the victims father, a dark haired man who gestured to the unsettled woman "He left to walk along the river on Monday morning and didn't return. His body was found on Wednesday, three miles downstream from where he was last seen."

Pulling out his clay pipe, Holmes lit it, sticking it in his mouth as his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"And the suspicious nature of this case..?" He asked, glancing at the Inspector

"When the body was found, it was most notable that he seemed to have sustained damage to his chest, possibly caused by a harsh shove" Inspector Berkeley stated grimly "It is also clear where he fell in from foot marks showing a scuffle between Timothy and another person"

"The last person to be seen with him was Michael Greenwood" The father said, glaring at a small boy who appeared to be no more than ten years of age. His clothes were as scruffy as his brown hair, which stuck out at odd angles that reminded Watson of how Sherlocks hair often sat on most mornings.

"We had a fight, sir" the frightened boy began, shaking as he spoke "But it was only words we fought with, I didn't touch him at all. I ran off after a while, and didn't see him after that."

"You didn't see anyone near the river who could have pushed Timothy?" Watson queried, his forehead frowning.

"No, no-one was there apart from us," The boy replied. "It was just him, myself and Roger, his dog, sir"

The boy looked across the room to a fawn Whippet, whose fur was pale with grey hairs. 'Roger' was slim and bony, not appearing to have much muscle or energy, as he lay curled up sleeping on a stray cushion on the floor.

"Roger's the only dog our boy trusted, Mr. Holmes. Wouldn't touch any other mutt." The father said, watching as the dog shifted in its sleep.

"So you're certain you saw no one else, boy?" Holmes questioned, taking out his pipe to speak"

"Sure of it, sir."

"Right, could you show me where the boy fell in?" Holmes said, replacing his pipe as the Inspector led him outside the grim cottage.

"I can't show you myself, as I have other work to attend to, but follow the river upstream until you come to a rock with scratches etched into it" He said, pointing to a clearing in a group of trees which led to the river "That's where he fell in"

Pulling on his coat, Watson blinked against the winter sun as the inspector walked away.

"Certainly is odd. Don't suppose the boy could have just fell in?"

"Hmm, it is a possibility. But facts before theories, old boy, don't forget that." Sherlock replied, taking Watsons arm with a grin as they started towards the clearing.

Reaching the clearing, they turned right. The added shade of the trees only made reminded the two of winter's presence, which wrapped around them in a cold blanket as they followed the river upstream. The river itself was only a few meters across, six at the most, but its depth was impossible to tell from a glance, the water bubbling over rocks randomly scattered along the rivers path.

"Gah!" Watson started, as he felt something collide into the back of his legs. Turning sharply on the spot, he raised his cane against his chest in defense, only to set its base on the ground again as he realised the 'something' was the previously dozing hound, Roger, who wagged his thin tail in greeting at the pair.

"Well hello, you clumsy old thing" Watson laughed, bending down to pat the dog, who wagged his tail furiously at the attention.

"Hmm, no." Sherlock frowned, bending down next to Watson to inspect the dog closer.

"No? You mean to say you don't think he's clumsy?" Watson laughed, grinning as Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him

"No, I mean no as in I don't think he can be classed as particularly old." Sherlock noted, gently holding the hounds muzzle in his left hand as he brushed at it with his right. As he did, flecks of flour fell from the dogs' snout, causing the dog to sneeze violently at the ground. Shaking itself off, the dog caused a cloud of white to escape from its fur causing both detective and doctor to sneeze.

"Well, it seems you're right, Holmes" said Watson, standing as he helped the detective up, whose focus was on the now not-so-grey-haired dog that grinned with an open mouth at the pair.

"Indeed Watson, he seems to be younger then first though."

Resuming their walk, the dog followed the pair, only stopping occasionally to sniff at plants. Reaching a flat patch of ground Holmes paused, noting the rock the inspector had told them to look out for.

"Hmm, a shame." Holmes said, shaking his head "There's been rain recently, it's washed away any foot marks the scuffle caused."

"Though I wouldn't have wanted to fall from here" Watson noted, peering over the paths edge to the river below, which bubbled furiously over jarred rocks that stuck up over the waters surface. "You don't suppose the chest marks were caused by hitting them" he asked, pointing his cane in direction of the rocks.

Holmes opened his mouth to respond but found himself cut off by the cry of a young boy.

"Sir, sir, wait sir." The voice called hurriedly, soon revealing itself to belong to Michael Greenwood from in the cottage, who ran towards them at speed. "I must tell you sir."

"What is it, boy?" Holmes asked, grabbing the flustered boy by the shoulders as he stopped before him.

"Sir, I lied sir. I lied at the cottage"

**~~~Wheeee cliff hanger~~~**

**Reviews are love**


	3. The fine line between loyalty

**A/N: Im so sorry this is late! Really late…. I actually finished this last Monday, but didn't get a chance to post it till now -.-**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy, and tell me if I've made any mistakes**

"_Sir, sir, wait sir." The voice called hurriedly, soon revealing itself to belong to Michael Greenwood from in the cottage, who ran towards them at speed. "I must tell you sir."_

"_What is it, boy?" Holmes asked, grabbing the flustered boy by the shoulders as he stopped before him._

"_Sir, I lied sir. I lied at the cottage"_

"What do you mean, boy?" Asked Holmes, his forehead creasing slightly.

"I lied about us fightin', sir" The boy replied, visibly intimidated by Holmes, as he shook slightly in Sherlocks grasp.

"You mean you didn't fight?" Watson asked.

"No, we fought alright!" Said the boy, glancing across to Watson. "But we was fightin' with fists, not just words."

"Whatever for?" Watson exclaimed, his face frowning in a similar way to Holmes's.

"He was a nasty piece of work, Tim was! His parents might think he was perfect, but he was a right bully to everyone behind their backs!" Matthew told them, standing up straighter as he did.

"The morning he disappeared, I caught him pestering my sister, makin' her cry. I went to sort him out but he ran away up here. We bickered a little till he swung a hit at me, then we was fightin' with fists, that's why they saw those scuffle marks" The boy explained.

Holmes stared at the rock, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

"When did the boy fall in?"

"That's the thing, sir. He clipped me in the side of the head, knocking me out." The boy said, showing them a bruise behind his right ear. "The last thing I remember is his dog barkin' in approval, the slimy little mutt. When I woke up all I found was his dog sittin' on that rock there, like one of them gargoyles. Someone must of pushed him in while I was out, unless he fell in himself." He said, shifting on his feet as he glared at the dog, who had previously been wagging his tail at Matthew, but had stopped when the boy had shown his dislike of the creature.

"Hmm," Holmes said, after Matthew explained he had work to do, leaving the detective and doctor to make sense of the situation at hand. "Most interesting."

"Indeed, but why were you," Watson asked the dog as he sat at the base of one of the trees, massaging its ears as it nuzzled its head against his chest. "Encouraging violent behavior, hmm?"

"Encouraging," Holmes asked Watson, as he pushed the dog away from him, sitting in front of him and replacing where the dogs head had been with his own. "Or voicing disapproval, I wonder."

"No need to be jealous of a dog, Holmes!" Watson laughed, reaching towards Roger, who grinned at the detective, who in turn responded by wrapping both arms around the doctor tightly.

"What do you mean, 'jealous', Watson?" Asked Holmes, not bothering with a clever remark as he closed his eyes, leaning into Watson as he closed his eyes.

Smiling, John pulled Holmes closer to him, not wanting to ruin the moment with an audible response. Roger had trotted off, deciding that his reflection in the water below was worthy of his full attention.

Watson could only wonder what the dog had seen that day.

* * *

For the seventh time that day, Watson watched as Roger stumbled ungracefully into a hole. And for the seventh time that day, he watched as the dog clambered out giddily, prancing about the field with no sense of direction whatsoever, seemingly unembarrassed by his falls.

"If you continue like that you'll end up with brain damage!" Watson laughed to the dog, who responded by bounding over several of the thick clumps of grass that littered the field like the plague, before disappearing for an eighth time.

Hoping for a response, Watson grinned at Holmes, but only received a flicker of a smile back. Dismayed, Watson continued to trudge through the grass, following the excited hound. It had been Watson who suggested they walk for a bit, in an attempt to liven Holmes up a bit, having not told Watson his opinions on the case at hand, but even so, Holmes had stayed quite, with a contemplative look upon his features.

A sudden yelp halted Watsons train of thought, the source from an unusually deep hole, a brown, furry nose peeking out at the rim.

"Perhaps not brain damage, old boy," Said Holmes flatly, kneeling at the edge of the hole and leaning in, grabbing the grateful dog around the belly. "But more so a damaged ego."

Pulling the dog up, Holmes set Roger beside him, who began to lick his hand, his whip-like tail beating at the tall grass.

"Watson," Said Holmes, inspecting the dogs face. "Do you suppose a dog as clumsy as this would hurt itself often?"

"Perhaps," Replied Watson "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Said Holmes, resuming his silence for the rest of their walk.

* * *

Standing in the winter sun, Watson pulled his coat around him tighter, trying to keep the breeze from chilling him to the bone. Not more than half an hour ago Holmes had requested the grieving family to gather outside their house, along with Matthew Greenwood and Inspector Berkerly.

Blinking down the left of the road, Watson spied two figures, one tall and lean, the other short and jittery as they proceeded towards him.

"Holmes," Called Watson, facing the Detective "I do believe we'll all be accounted for soon."

Holmes nodded, not bothering to turn to face his companion as he stared out into space.

"Good. The sooner this case is over the sooner we'll be back in London."

Berkerly and Matthew arrived shortly, the group forming a broken circle around Holmes. Timothy's family huddled to the left of the group, the deceased boys father shooting glares at young Matthew from across the circle, who huddled behind Watson.

"Well, have you come to a conclusion, Mr. Holmes?" Said the father gruffly, glaring once again at Matthew.

"Indeed I have, Mr. Barkers." Holmes replied, looking across to him. "Though you must stop scaring young Matthew, I can assure you of his innocence."

"Then who," Interrupted the Inspector, before Mr. Barkers could respond "_Was _responsible?"

Glancing across the field, Holmes spotted Roger, who had been entertaining himself for the past hour or so by digging at the base of the tree shading the small cottage, barking every once in a while out of excitement when he found a rabbit hiding beneath the trees roots.

"Your son, was he..." Holmes paused, trying to find the right words. "Was he particularly kind to his dog? Or did his fear of the species turn to hate against the only one he could stand to be around?"

"Why I never!" Scoffed Mr. Barkers, his face turning a deep shade of red. "Our Timothy was as kind to the dog as the dog was loyal to him!"

"Hmm!" Holmes replied, amused at the reaction from the man. "The bruises on the dogs underbelly and face disagree, Mr. Barkers. Though the dog is indeed not the most surefooted of creatures, the bruises he has received can only have been caused by a boot or a harsh slap. Unless, of course you are willing to admit you caused the harm?" Barkers shook his head, staring at ground in embarrassment "No? Then I can assure you, your boy was not as kind as you think."

"But what of our boys death, Mr. Holmes?" The mans wife cried, her eyes watery as she fought back tears. "How do you explain him falling in like that, with Matthew so close?"

"Ah, indeed." Holmes said, nodding to the woman. "I was getting to that. Matthew did indeed accompany your son that morning, and was there when he fell, but he wasn't the only one with the two boys now, was he?"

Staring across the field, Holmes eyed Roger, who had his head stuck halfway down a rabbit hole. Following his gaze, the father jumped.

"The dog? You think the dog was responsible?"

"All in good time, Mr. Barkers! Do let me explain." Said Holmes, annoyed at the impatient man.

"Timothy and Matthews fight was indeed one with fists, not just with words, and your boy managed to clip Matthew on the side of the head. Not a fatal wound, but enough to knock him unconscious." Holmes explained, watching as the dog was digging once again, dirt flying behind him.

"Matthew claimed to have heard the dog bark in agreement with this violence before becoming unconscious, but who are we to say what the dogs opinion was when we don't understand his language, hmm? Loyalty only goes so far, and though your dog may have taken the abuse given to him by your boy, when Timothy harmed Matthew, he barked not in agreement, but in defiance, jumping up upon your boy and, unfortunately, pushing him off the ledge"

By this time, Holmes had watched as the mood of the Barkers family had changed from grief to silent unhappiness, the father of the deceased boys expression changing from red to stony and unemotional, a look that reminded Watson of Holmes.

"Right." Said Mr. Barker quietly, facing Holmes. "Thank you for your time Mr. Holmes, you'll receive payment in the near future."

Pulling his wife and daughter inside his house, the man paused at the door.

"Keep the ruddy dog!" He called out to them, anger and sadness apparent in his tone. "I'll shoot him if I see him again!"

* * *

"Holmes, I still do not see what you intend to do with the dog!" exclaimed Watson, who was seated next to Holmes as they travelled in the hansom back to London.

Roger, seated across from them bounced about in his seat, his saliva decorating the window as he stared out the window open mouthed, entranced by the scenery outside.

"All in good time, Watson. He's in good hands." replied Holmes, watching as Watson rolled his eyes.

"Good hands! If you treat him like you do Gladstone, he'll have died six times by next week!" Watson barked, frowning as he finally noticed the dogs tongue painting on the window.

"Yes, he would make an excellent test subject, but I haven't that in mind for him." Holmes said, leaning against Watson, and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Sighing, Watson didn't respond, choosing instead to thread his fingers though Holmes hair.

"Holmes, would you stop that!" Watson pleaded, annoyed at Holmes, who sat by the window staring into the street below. The source of Watsons annoyance was the violin in his hand, which his casually plucked.

"Well," Holmes said, placing the instrument down. "Give me something to do instead."

Grinning, Watson blushed at him, walking over to Holmes and sitting behind him, wrapping his arms around the man as he did.

"What do you suggest?" He asked, closing his eyes as he rested his head on Holmes' shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek as he did.

Leaning back, Holmes returned the gesture, before jumping at the sight in the street below.

"What is it, Holmes?" Asked Watson, his eyes snapping open in concern.

"See, there!" Holmes remarked, pointing with his left hand to the street. "What I did with that dog!"

Peering over Holmes shoulder, Watson spied Roger below, his tail wagging as he followed an excited Wiggins along the street.

"You gave him to Wiggins, really? You don't think the dog will do anything rash again, Holmes?" Muttered Watson.

Holmes shook his head, entwining his fingers with Watsons.

"Wiggins is too kind to the dog for it to act against him. Had he been old like we had first thought, I might have let him live out his days with us, but he's barely 2 years old, he deserves the constant attention Wiggins will no doubt provide."

"Indeed" Watson agreed, rubbing the back of Holmes hand with his thumb "Speaking of attention, you've barely paid any to me at all this past week. You've spent more on that dratted violin!" He laughed, before pouting at Holmes in faked unhappiness.

"Well," said Holmes, nipping at Watson neck. "Let me make it up to you."

**END**

**~~~Reviews are love~~~**


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